


Avoidance Strategies

by genteelrebel



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, Light Bondage, M/M, Past Abuse, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 17:27:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3455660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genteelrebel/pseuds/genteelrebel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of dancing around each other, the boys finally make it into each other's arms, and it was more than worth the wait--at least, it was from Duncan's point of view. But then Methos stopped coming to bed at night...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Avoidance Strategies

The sex had been incredible.

Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod had pretty much thought he'd done it all. He'd lost his virginity to an older clanswoman when he was still a mortal lad in the Highlands, and the four centuries he’d lived through since then had been very busy ones, filled with many varieties of passion and lust. He'd had his first same-sex experience during the early Renaissance, and he hadn't found reason to avoid them since, although women had always been his preference. His homosexual encounters had ranged from simple release to horrendous embarrassment to innocent fun: once, with Jacob Galati, he’d also felt the ecstasy of emotional intimacy, although this had scared him enough to run back to the nearest willing female. In any event, Duncan MacLeod had long since ceased to be virginal, in any conceivable sense of the word. He'd also thought he was long past being surprised.

He’d been wrong.

The barge was dim, only a few candles in the galley lending their light. In the near-dark, Methos's body seemed to glow. His hands, ghost-pale, slowly caressed Duncan's chest. Duncan shivered as the long, knowing fingers expertly drew trails through the sweat shining on his skin. "What are you doing to me?" he whispered as his hips strained upward, his entire body a mixed-up mass of desperate pleasure and fatigue. "I've never felt like this before."

Below him, Methos smiled. "Good," he said. "That was the plan." Methos's rough, sword-callused fingertips slowly, almost worshipfully, circled Duncan’s nipples. Duncan gasped. "Is it working?"

"'Working' is hardly the word," Duncan murmured, before Methos stole his breath away with yet another clever touch. Duncan could feel his orgasm building quickly, yet deeply, centered in his heart as much as his cock, and he knew without a doubt that he was in for the ride of his life. "Methos?"

"Yes?"

Words were difficult. "What...took...us...so...long?"

The ancient sighed as his hands slid downward, caressing Duncan's thighs. Duncan felt his cock throb in response. "Both of us had our reasons, Duncan."

"Yeah. Reasons." God. Methos was touching him so lightly, hardly touching him at all, and yet Duncan’s skin was so sensitive that he could feel each caress all the way down to his toes. "Real good reasons. Blind pride an'... an' stupidity." Damn. Another few moments and coherent speech would be beyond him altogether.

"Speak for yourself, Highlander," Methos said. His voice was amused. "We may mutually decide that what we are doing now outweighs everything else we've ever done on the stupid scale." He dropped his head to Duncan's chest and rubbed his cheek against Duncan's skin, eyes closed as he took a deep breath of Duncan's scent. "I just want to make you come a few more dozen times before that happens."

"No." Duncan shook his head, the motion almost painful. "Not...gonna...decide that. Not ever." He raised his hands in a futile attempt to gesture the depth of his meaning, than dropped them, deciding that his broken words would have to suffice. "I... I *love* you, Methos. Don't you know…?"

Methos said nothing, just slid down Duncan 's body until he could take Duncan 's throbbing erection in his mouth. And as he exploded yet again, Duncan didn't even notice that Methos had never answered his question.

***

A few days later, Methos met him at the door of the barge. Duncan had felt the other man's distinctive Buzz the moment he’d crossed the gangplank, so he had known Methos was there. What Duncan hadn't expected was to be pounced upon the moment he came through the door, and kissed so thoroughly that his head was spinning even before his back thudded against the bulkhead. He didn't even have time to reach for his sword...

Oh, god. A hot, demanding mouth bruised Duncan’s lips, and a hot, lean, masculine body pinned him to the wall. Methos's mouth was capable of bringing any man to his knees, and it took less than a minute for the sweet dominating heat to become the center of Duncan's entire universe. Duncan knocked the back of his head sharply on a porthole. For a moment he thought he would black out, but he was wrong: Methos had taken over his every bodily function and there was no way the old Immortal was going to let him slip into unconsciousness, however temporarily. Rather like an old-fashioned tin soldier, Duncan was maneuvered step by involuntary step toward the bed, then finally allowed to come up for air. "Methos?"

"Quiet," the unbelievably sexy voice admonished. "No words, Highlander. I've been waiting for this all day." For a moment, just a moment, Duncan came back to himself enough to catch sight of Methos's feral, predatory smile. Then a foot was hooked around the back of his knee and he was falling, backward into the mattress.

Duncan was so disoriented, so utterly confused, that the simple two-foot fall seemed to take forever. He felt like he was falling for hours, the comforter a hundred miles away before it reached up to snatch him in its soft embrace, like a mother catching a falling babe in mid air. Once Duncan had hit, Methos didn't give him to adjust. He collapsed on top of him, firm muscled length squirming and biting and demanding. "Yes, Highlander, just like that," Methos murmured. "You're mine now...nothing to do but surrender."

"Methos?"

"I said, no words." A sharp bite to Duncan’s lips reinforced the command. Duncan moaned. A hand grabbed his erection through his pants, worked him hard and ruthlessly. And then he was coming, the orgasm ripped from him as ruthlessly as bread taken from a starving man.

Methos rolled off him and smiled that same feral smile, this time edged in intense satisfaction. "Welcome home," he purred into Duncan's ear, then rolled off the bed and sauntered into the galley--leaving Duncan wet, sticky, confused, and more aroused than he'd ever thought possible. Duncan got shakily to his feet and adjusted his sticky pants, not sure what he was going to say or do. To be taken like that, and then abandoned--well, Duncan’s head was still spinning too much for coherent thought, but he was fairly sure he ought to be offended. He stalked into the galley, angry words already on his lips.

But when he reached the galley Methos was busy putting the finishing touches on a food tray, complete with chocolate and croissants and one damn red rose. The angry words died in Duncan’s mouth. "Methos?"

"I told you I'd been waiting for this all day." Methos balanced the tray against his hip with one hand, took Duncan's hand in the other, and led the Highlander back to bed--where Duncan was first fed and then made love to with so much tender thoroughness that he forgot all about his earlier anger. Nothing else mattered but Methos' touch, Methos's kiss, Methos's sweet purr of satisfaction as Duncan came for him again...

And that was the way it went. For weeks. Even for months.

***

It wasn't at all like Duncan had fantasized a sexual relationship with Methos to be. (And he had fantasized about it a lot over the years, even when he didn't want to admit it.) In the beginning, when he'd known Methos only as a shy, mild-mannered Watcher hiding from both life and the Game amongst his books, Duncan had always pictured himself as the more experienced one. Oh, of course it was ridiculous to think that way, given the vast difference in their ages--Duncan had known that even then. But the fantasy had persisted. He, Duncan, would always be the one making the first move. And he would be the one in control, making love to Methos with all his sensual skill.

Later, when Duncan began to know more of Methos's true character, the fantasies had changed. When Duncan’s anger over the Horseman had subsided enough to let him start dreaming about the old Immortal again, Duncan had started picturing the sex as wild, aggressive, the sexual version of an all-out spar. Or else it could have been like a chess match: slow, calculating, each of them testing each other's reactions in a not-so-subtle competition. He’d never expected Methos to be so tender with him, or to pay so much attention to Duncan’s needs. Every time Methos undressed him, Duncan became very center of the other man's world. Every inch of his skin would be attended to, every nerve stimulated and cherished, until more often than not Duncan exploded without even realizing he'd been taken to the edge. And always, after the first orgasm, Methos would take him beyond pleasure into something else entirely--something darkly beautiful, as his body yearned both for rest and for more of Methos's touch, simultaneously wanting the older man to stop and knowing that he would die if he did. Duncan had never, ever experienced anything like it, and usually he would collapse into dreamless sleep as soon Methos decided he'd had enough.

There was just one problem. Methos never, ever climaxed himself.

It took Duncan quite some time to realize this. Methos's lovemaking was so different, so overwhelming, that for the first few weeks Duncan never got a chance to stop and recognize the obvious. After all, it wasn't as if the Methos never got aroused. He very clearly did. And it wasn't as if Methos never let Duncan touch him. He did. The feeling of the silk-covered steel that was Methos’s cock against his fingertips or the salty-bitter flavor of Methos’s pre-come on his tongue formed some of Duncan’s most treasured memories of their lovemaking so far. It was just that when push came to shove, so to speak, Methos somehow always managed to evade him. Duncan would become the center of attention again--and Methos wouldn't give up until he was beyond making any protest. He wouldn't even let him talk about it out of bed. Whenever Duncan tried, Methos found some way of changing the subject--usually so skillfully that Duncan wouldn't even notice that the subject *had* been changed. Not until he was falling asleep after yet another night of epic passion…

After their two month anniversary had come and gone, Duncan realized that 5,000 years had given his lover more than just incredible skill and experience with the arts of love. It had also made him slippery as hell.

***

Two months became nine weeks, then ten, with no change in Methos's behavior. Duncan knew he needed advice. The question was, who could he ask? Of all Duncan's male Immortal friends, the only one he truly could have trusted to understand was Sean Burns...but Sean was dead. So was Darius. So was Fitz. Duncan briefly considered telling Joe about the problem, but he could hear the Watcher's snorted protest of "Too Much Information, Mac!" before he even opened his mouth. It saddened him, but it was true. Duncan couldn't think of a single male friend he could confess his problems to.

That left his female friends, which was even more depressing. Gina? His former amorata was not the most sensitive woman in the world, even if she wasn't still busy honeymooning with Robert. Grace would have been sympathetic, but was lost somewhere in the jungles of South America. Amanda? The thought initially made Duncan cringe... but after still another week went by with no change, he found the idea growing on him. After all, Amanda had taken the news of him and Methos being together remarkably well. She’d been very supportive, betraying little of her trademark jealousy--and her new romance with Nick Wolfe seemed to be keeping her in remarkably good humor. Duncan knew Methos would kill him if he ever found out he’d told Amanda anything about their sex life, but Duncan was truly baffled by Methos's behavior. He needed the help. He placed the call to Canada, knowing that he'd have to endure a good twenty minutes of merciless teasing and laughter on Amanda's part when she learned the truth. But it was also just possible that she'd have some good advice.

He wasn't disappointed in either expectation. Amanda's merry peals of laughter were so loud that Duncan had to hold the phone away from his ear. When the noise subsided into desperate gasps for air, Duncan put it back to his ear quickly, a bit concerned that Amanda had gone into cardiac arrest. "If you weren't Immortal, I'd call the paramedics on my other line," he groused. "And if you were in Paris, I'd run you through with my sword just to put you out of your misery. Amanda, it's not THAT funny."

"Oh, but Duncan, it is," Amanda gasped. "Duncan MacLeod, The Highland Adonis, fabled in song and story and Watcher Chronicle alike as the man capable of making a thousand women climax just by batting his eyes--is having troubles pleasing a MAN? It's just too good!"

She started laughing even harder. A few suspicious sounding thumps came over the phone line, as if Amanda had fallen out of her chair. "Are you all right?" Duncan asked reflexively, then decided he didn't really care. After all, she'd heal. "Amanda, Methos is not just any man."

"Of course he isn't," Amanda answered blithely. "If he was, he would never have been able to break that 400 year old heterosexual streak of yours." Duncan coughed awkwardly. Amanda had thus far never found out about any of his other "experiments", and Duncan was content to let it remain so. "But the truth of the matter is, special as he may be, Methos is still a *man*, my darling," Amanda continued. "Duncan, men are easy! Ever so much easier than women. All you have to do is smile and grab their..."

"Amanda," Duncan growled. "I do understand the basic anatomy involved. It doesn't help. Methos is..." He paused, trying to come up with the right word. "Different."

Sudden suspicion colored Amanda's voice. "His equipment isn't out of order, is it?"

"Uh--no." A sudden vision of Methos's beautiful cock, hard and flushed and weeping, flashed in front of Duncan 's eyes. He had to take a deep breath to keep his heart rate under control. "No, Amanda, that wasn't what I meant. Methos's equipment is DEFINITELY in working order."

"Well, you never know," Amanda said doubtfully. "I've never run across a single case of Immortal male impotence in all my years, but as you say, Methos is unique..."

"Amanda, sweetheart, I refuse to believe that you've ever run across a true case of impotence in *any* man. Not one that ten minutes alone with you couldn't cure."

Amanda made a pleased sound. He could almost see her dimples, so vivid was the picture in his mind's eye. "Not very often," she agreed happily, then sighed. "Well, Duncan, I must admit I'm at a loss. You're just going to tell me everything that happens when you're in bed together if you want my advice. Every single thing, you understand. In *incredibly* explicit detail."

"Amanda!"

"It isn't prurient interest, darling," Amanda said innocently. "I just want to *help*." Duncan made a disbelieving sound. "Come now, Duncan, tell your Auntie Amanda everything," Amanda coaxed. "You know you want to. Then we'll see if this thousand year old brain can come up with anything."

*Oh well,* Duncan thought. *In for a penny, in for a pound. I might as well tell her the rest.* So he did.

Every now and then, Amanda could surprise him with her sensitivity. The Immortal thief mercifully dropped her teasing, and listened very carefully to what he had to say. "Let me get this straight," she said after a while. "Or, er...well, you know what I mean. Methos is the most incredible lover you've ever had. He takes you to bed nearly every night and has you climaxing more than you ever thought possible--even more than with *me*, darling? My, my! I wonder what I'll be capable of in a few more millennia? I'll have to keep Nick alive just so you two can compare notes..."

"Amanda!"

"Sorry." The thief was unrepentant. "Anyway, he lavishes all his attention on you, and seems to get thoroughly aroused himself during the process. He's even penetrated you, much to your enjoyment, but he never orgasms himself. Duncan ..." For the first time, Amanda sounded serious. "I think you have a major problem."

Her sober tone frightened him. "I think I already knew that," Duncan said quietly. "But I can't figure out what it is."

"He doesn't trust you."

"What?" Duncan laughed hollowly. "Amanda, that's ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Yes!" Duncan shouted the word. "Amanda, that can't be the problem. I’ll admit that we've had our ups and downs, but we've worked through all that. I know Methos trusts me."

"Are you sure?" Amanda asked. "Duncan, listen to me. I trust you. I've trusted you with my body, and will trust you with my life until the end of time. All kinds of people do, and you've never proven yourself unworthy of that trust. But Methos is *different*." She sighed. "He's spent the last who-knows-how-long hiding from the Game and other Immortals. Didn't you tell me that you were the first person in centuries to even know his real name? And that he's had countless romantic relationships, but never with another Immortal? There's got to be a reason for that, a reason why he stayed away from the rest of us for so long."

"Amanda, you're wrong." Duncan ran a hand distractedly through his hair. "Of course Methos has reason to be suspicious of other Immortals. His Quickening is so old and powerful it almost guarantees the winning of the Game. But he doesn't have to worry about that with *me.*."

"Maybe," Amanda said doubtfully. "You know he doesn't, and I certainly know he doesn't. But does *he* know that?" Duncan made a scoffing sound. "Listen to me, Duncan," Amanda said. "Even if he trusts you with life, he may not trust you with everything. Maybe it's not his head he's worrying about. Maybe it's something else."

"Like what?"

"Falling in love too deeply? Losing you? How should I know?" Amanda countered. "He's five thousand years old, Duncan. Nobody really knows how his mind works. All I know is this. Letting somebody else watch you climax is incredibly intimate--and Methos is denying you that intimacy, even as he's giving you everything else. So there's something wrong. And I think what's wrong is his level of trust."

"What do you suggest I do about it?"

"Nothing," she said. "Duncan, I know it's difficult--but if he’s frightened, pushing him is not going to get you anywhere you want to go. Let him call the shots, do what he wants to do." She chuckled coyly. "It certainly sounds like that will be pleasant enough."

"Hmmm," Duncan said noncommittally. "Well, I'll think about it. Thanks, Amanda. Give my regards to Nick."

His attempt at cutting short the conversation failed miserably. Amanda knew him much too well. "You're not going to take my advice, are you."

"I--" He thought. "I don't know, Amanda. Something is wrong. I *can't* just sit back and do nothing. I have to do my best to fix it."

"Duncan, some things just have to heal by themselves," Amanda replied. "Don't push it. Give him time."

"I'll think about it, Amanda. I really will. But I won't promise anything."

"Well--all right." Amanda sounded resigned. "I will say hello to Nick for you. Be sure to give Methos my love."

"I will."

***

Duncan really did give Amanda's suggestions some honest thought. In the end, though, he just couldn't agree with her. Of course Methos trusted him. He trusted him with his head--or he wouldn't spend each night sleeping at his side--and he trusted him with his heart, or they never would have made it into bed in the first place. Methos *had* to know by now that Duncan loved him and would do anything he could to keep him with him. If he didn't--well. Duncan was just going to have to prove it to him.

Duncan made his plans carefully, secretly, thinking about all the possibilities before he made his move. He waited for a night when Methos had been working late, straining his eyes and his mind over some bit of translation at the university where he was now employed. Methos still hadn't "officially" moved onto the barge, but he was spending nearly all of his nights there, and more of his clothes and books migrated everyday. Duncan knew Methos would come to the barge to sleep. And eventually he did, tired and disgruntled, with both his head and his shoulders aching. "What's this?" Methos asked curiously when Duncan let him in, painfully stretching sore muscles while his nose took in the scent of the dinner Duncan had kept warm. "I was sure you would have eaten hours ago."

"It's just homemade macaroni and cheese," Duncan answered nonchalantly. "And I did eat earlier. But it was easy enough to keep what was left in the oven just in case you came home hungry." 

“Macaroni and cheese?”

“Yeah. Nothing fancy.” Duncan had really wanted to go all out, courting the old man with candles and exotic spices and a several hundred year old bottle of wine--but he knew if he did that, Methos would end up "distracting" him again, and Duncan didn't want that just yet. He’d figured out that only way to get what he wanted was to take Methos by surprise. "I did put in some of that nice Parmesan you like, though. Want some?"

"Oh, yes." Methos sagged into a chair, almost pathetically grateful. "Thanks, Mac. The last thing I wanted to do tonight was make myself a sandwich. I'm about done in." Duncan smiled a mysterious smile into the galley's small fridge and tossed the other man a can of beer.

Methos was so tired that he barely managed to catch the can before it collided with his head, but he drank thirstily, and when Duncan brought him his dinner on a plate he wolfed down the simple meal despite the fact that his eyes kept slipping closed. "You do look tired," Duncan said sympathetically. "I had no idea translation was so much work."

"It's not the translating that really has me down," Methos answered. "Although we are working on a very tricky bit of Etruscan at the moment. No, it's the college politics that's really driving me nuts. If they just left me and the rest of team alone with the manuscript, we could be done in half the time. But the head of the department's ego is riding high on this project, and she insists on arguing with us over each and every word." He yawned. "Idiot. Translation by committee NEVER works."

"How about joining me for a shower? I bet we could wash away some of that stress."

Methos frowned. "Duncan, normally I would leap at the offer...but not tonight. I think I could barely stand long enough to shampoo my hair. Much less..." his brilliant eyes swept over Duncan 's body... "indulge in other activities."

"Who said anything about 'other activities'?" Duncan stretched his arms over his head with a theatrical yawn. "I'm bushed myself. I'm just asking for company, not for sex." He smiled. "Come on, Methos. The heat will work out some of those kinks, and then we'll both have an early night. I'll see to it that you make it to the bed before you collapse. If you're nice, I might even wash your hair for you."

"Hmmm," Methos said. But he let himself be led to the barge's shower--tiny, but large enough for two if you didn't mind the fact that one had to practically stand outside the door--and even let Duncan undress him, all with a look of innocent fatigued pleasure that almost made Duncan regret his designs. Seeing Methos naked under any circumstance was enough to give Duncan an instant hard-on, but he fought down the incipient horniness with an effort. He wanted Methos relaxed, much too relaxed to protest what Duncan would do later on. He washed Methos's body with sure smooth strokes, deliberately keeping his touch gentle, and had the reward of hearing Methos hum with fatigued delight.

Shampooing Methos's hair was almost too much. The pleased sounds Methos made when Duncan stroked all the pleasurable spots on his scalp seriously threatened Duncan's resolve to keep this platonic. But he managed, quickly cleaning himself before turning off the water and toweling them both dry. "Thanks, Mac," Methos said sleepily as he assisted him across the barge floor. "I really needed that." He collapsed onto the bed-- Duncan pulled the covers up. A second later the World's Oldest Man was fast asleep.

Duncan lit a candle or two and crawled in beside him, letting himself drift to sleep as well. But not for long. When he woke, it was about twenty minutes later. The candles had burned down a little, but not too much, reaching that wide part of the taper where they would burn with a steady flame for hours to come. Methos was sleeping with his mouth open, one arm flung over his head. Duncan thought he looked absolutely beautiful in the candlelight, so innocent and young. He slid more deeply under the covers, letting the comforter cover his head as he moved to cover Methos's body. The comforter made a warm tent over him, screening out everything in the room except for Methos's chest and face. Duncan took a moment just to enjoy the moment, enjoy having a motionless Methos under him at last, all that sweet pale skin spread out for his delight. Then he started raining kisses upon the perfectly muscled chest.

Gently, gently. He didn't want Methos to wake up until the old Immortal’s body was already responding, until it would be impossible for Methos to turn the tables yet again. Above Duncan’s head, Methos murmured softly and stirred, arching his chest into Duncan's pleasuring hands. Duncan held his breath, but Methos didn't wake; he just turned his head and went back to sleep. Duncan smiled. Good. He could up the stakes then, explore the places he really yearned to touch. Slowly, carefully, Duncan shifted so he was stretched out along Methos's left side. He laid his head against Methos's shoulder, letting his body nestle under Methos's outstretched arm. Then he let his hands wander downward.

Methos jumped, still asleep. Duncan murmured soothing nothings as he stroked a bony hip, marveling at his lover's thinness. He was going to insist on a large breakfast in bed tomorrow morning, no matter what Methos said about it. The comforter hid Methos's lower body from view; Duncan tucked his head still deeper underneath it so he could see. Oh, yes. Powerful, well-shaped thighs, beautiful dusky cock just begging to be touched and stirred into life-- Duncan closed his hand over it, loving the smooth-silk feel against his calluses, loving the softness and the heat. A few moments later he was rewarded with a gentle throb and the beginnings of an erection. Duncan smiled, and gently ran a single finger around the bulging head.

It was like an electric shock ran through the body underneath him. Methos's whole form shuddered and stiffened from head to toe. His eyes popped open, darting around in barely controlled panic. "Mainshtyr?" he said, then blinked, seeming to focus on the barge. "MacLeod?"

"Shh, Methos. Yes. It's just me." Duncan changed his grasp, switching to a more soothing petting motion he knew Methos especially liked. The look of fear--something Duncan had never, ever seen in Methos before--unnerved him. But he was so hungry to see Methos reach completion at his hand, hungry in his heart and spirit even more than in his body. He didn't want to stop. "It's just me. Duncan."

"Duncan ?" Methos raised a hand to shield his eyes, as if the candles were blinding bright. He looked sideways into Duncan's face, then down at their two bodies. Duncan hoped with all his heart that Methos could see the beauty in it, the contrast of their two forms wrapped together: their skins were so different in color, golden and pale, that together they looked like the two halves of a Tao symbol. He hoped Methos could see the incredible magic of his own aroused shape wrapped in Duncan's strong broad hand, and the love written across Duncan 's face. But the green-gold eyes flickered closed. "Oh, no." Methos said. "No, Duncan. Please stop."

"Why?" Duncan asked, his disappointment plain. "Methos, you've given me so much. Taken me places I never imagined." He refused to let go of Methos's cock, keeping up the steady petting. Methos moaned softly. "Why won't you let me take you there? Just once?"

"Duncan..."

Methos swallowed heavily, his Adam's apple bobbing. Duncan shook his head, not wanting to hear the next words, not able to even entertain the thought of another denial. He shifted his powerful body back over Methos's lean one, rubbing his hips against Methos's, knowing that his expression was as pleading as a child's. "Please, Methos," he begged. "Please. Just this once."

"Duncan." The word was strangled.

"Please, Methos," Duncan repeated. "Let me love you." He arched his back, letting his own weeping cock paint a liquid trail over Methos's abdomen. "Let me please you." He slid downward, letting his cock rub against those magnificent thighs. "Just let me have you." Back up again and settling between Methos's legs, cocks rubbing together as if they had always been made just to be that way, and pleasure searing upwards through his body in a dizzying streak of heat. "Just let me. Oh, let me. Please."

"Duncan!" It was not a yes. Even through his lust-hazed mind Duncan knew that much. But Methos suddenly wrapped his arms and legs around him, pulling him close, and the ancient mouth managed to find his.

The kiss was strong, demanding, overpowering. Duncan felt his whole body melt under the onslaught. Methos twisted under him, trying to roll them both over onto their sides. Duncan pulled away with a groan. "No," he grunted. "No. Not like that." He gently disentangled his arms so he could push Methos back into the pillow and kissed him with much more gentleness, making sure he stayed in charge. "I need you under me, need you to let me have control. Let me please you."

The green eyes went wide with shock, and then closed in submission. And then the magic truly started to happen. Amazed, startled more than he would have thought possible, Duncan watched as Methos truly surrendered--watched as the tension slowly melted out of every muscle, watched the ancient face transform as it turned inward. No longer watching Duncan, his only contact a softened hand lightly curling in Duncan's hair, Methos took on a deeply transcendent beauty. Everything--the room, the blankets, and Duncan’s own overwhelming need-- faded away, forgotten. Nothing mattered at all except for listening to Methos's breath, feeling Methos’s cock throb against his own, and watching the exact way the beautiful man's face transformed as the climax swept over him and semen spurted over his stomach. Duncan knew he would never forget the sight.

Next to that vision, Duncan 's own climax seemed a pale and paltry thing, but it happened without his volition, taking him up to the heights no words can adequately describe. When Duncan came back down Methos appeared to have lapsed back into sleep, his breathing regular, and the tiniest hint of a smile on the corners of his mouth. His hand had slipped from Duncan's hair to twine through Duncan's fingers. Duncan looked down at the hand, a curious sense of reverence stealing over him. The burning-paraffin scent of the candles coupled with the flickering light on Methos's face made the feeling that much stronger, almost as if Duncan was standing in Darius's church. *Holy Ground* he thought. *Ah, Methos. Whoever would have thought my ultimate refuge from the Game would be with you?*

There was no answer, just the gentle rhythm of Methos's sleeping breath. Duncan straightened the blankets over them both and went to sleep.

***

He woke up to the extremely unusual early morning sight of Methos awake and fully clothed, bustling about in the galley. The wonderful scent of bacon and coffee was filling the barge. "Good morning, Highlander!" Methos called out. "I was wondering if I was going to have to yank the covers off you. Breakfast is ready."

Normally, Duncan woke up easily, going from being sound asleep to fully consciousness in a matter of heartbeats. It was a survival tactic all Immortals developed over the years. Duncan blinked at the sun-lit barge and his equally sunny lover with the feeling that this time, he hadn't quite managed it. Part of him must still be asleep. Many things weren't quite right about the scene, but one in particular caught like treacle in Duncan’s mind, impossible to ignore. "Methos," he said. "You *cooked*?"

"Of course," Methos responded. "Modern science hasn't quite progressed to self-scrambling eggs just yet, now has it?" He waved a pan, and sure enough, Duncan caught sight of a mass of fluffy yellow eggs inside it. Methos already had a plate and was eating hungrily.

"But why?"

Methos shrugged. "It was the least I could do, after the way you took care of me last night," and before Duncan's foggy mind could work out whether Methos meant the macaroni or the sex, Methos took a look at his watch. "Looks like you'll be eating by yourself," he said, stuffing a last fork full of eggs in his mouth. "I've got to run if I'm going to make it to that seminar on time. Next time I'll yank the covers off you earlier." He dumped the plate in the sink, grabbed his coat, and gave Duncan a kiss so quick Duncan almost didn't feel it. "See you tonight," he said, and was gone.

Duncan got up and slowly pulled on a pair of sweats. For the life of him, he couldn't remember any early morning seminar that Methos had to attend. But they were still negotiating that part of their relationship, and it wasn't as if Methos had to keep Duncan appraised of every single appointment. Sleepily, Duncan walked into the galley and served himself some eggs and bacon, dimly remembering his vow to make Methos breakfast in bed and wondering where his lover had gotten the energy to cook a full meal. This was the first breakfast Methos had ever made him; it was too bad that he couldn't stick around to share. Duncan hoped the eggs were good.

They were.

The rich golden flavor of the eggs stayed on Duncan's tongue all day, along with the sweetness of last night's memories. Amanda had been wrong. The only thing their relationship had needed was for Duncan to take control, show the Methos how he really felt. Duncan went for a long jog along the river then returned for his katas on top of the barge--and, instead of being too troubled to truly relax into the exercise as he had been for weeks, Duncan found both his body and mind both moving joyfully. When he sat for his meditation, all he could think about was Methos--but they were happy thoughts, untainted by any of the worries that had hounded him. Focusing on Methos as he had been last night made Duncan feel more at peace than any mantra. Duncan couldn't wait for Methos to come home so he could see it again.

But Methos didn't come home. Not at his regular time, not even an hour later. The phone rang just as the last of the winter twilight was fading. "I'm sorry, Mac," Methos said, voice full of apology. "This is the first chance I've had to call you since noon. I'm still at the University. The Head's moved up the deadline on the Etruscan project. My team's going to pull an all-nighter."

Duncan tried to hide his disappointment. "Do you need anything?" he asked. "I could swing by with something to eat."

A gentle laugh. "Mac, these are grad students we're talking about. They aren't going to miss an opportunity to binge on take out. We've already ordered enough food to feed an army. But I appreciate the offer."

"Well, I'll be sure to leave a light on."

"Uh--" Methos sounded uncomfortable. "No, Mac, don't bother. When they say ‘all-nighter’ here they really mean it. I won't be back at the barge until tomorrow night."

"What?" Surprise warred with hurt in Duncan's voice. He took a deep breath to calm himself. "Not even for a shower and a shave?"

"Oh, I'll go back to my own flat for that in the morning. It's closer. And anyway, it's about time I stopped by to collect the newspapers and throw out the milk. My landlady's probably about break down the door to search for my body." Duncan was silent. "Mac? Are you still there?"

"Yes," Duncan said, kicking himself. "Just...well. I was hoping to pay you back for the eggs."

"Uh-oh," Methos said lightly. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that. Were they *that* bad?"

"No." Duncan chuckled. "Quite the opposite. As you already know. I guess I'll just have to prove it to you tomorrow night instead."

"Mmmm." It was a pleased sound, very similar to a cat's purr. Duncan smiled. Methos cleared his throat. "Well. Much as I'd like to hear more on that subject, I'm afraid the ancient Etruscans await..."

"I'll let you go to them. Take care."

It was quite lonely, sleeping in his large bed all alone. Duncan hadn't realized how accustomed he'd become to Methos's warmth beside him, Methos's scent on the sheets and pillows, until they were no longer there. He spent an awkward night, tossing and turning constantly. The next evening when Methos returned, Duncan was almost as tired as his lover--and Methos fell asleep almost as soon as he returned, lounging bonelessly in a chair in front of the fire. Duncan tried to wake him up long enough to get him undressed and into bed, but it didn't work. The first time Duncan shook the ancient shoulder, Methos merely snorted and turned the other way. The second time he cracked open one sleepy eye. "Not tonight, MacLeod. You'll have to keep your evil designs upon my person to yourself for once. I have a headache."

"You're certainly giving me one,” Duncan answered wryly. “Relax, Methos. I just want to get you into bed."

"What did I tell you? One-track mind," Methos murmured, and was instantly asleep again. Duncan waved a hand in front of his face. There was no response. He sighed and bent down, about to pick up his lover in a fireman's carry, but as Duncan wrestled the inert body away from the chair a soft voice spoke directly into his ear. "Duncan, I love you. But if you jostle me one more time I'll have to draw my sword."

Duncan stepped hastily back. Methos’s ancient eyes didn't so much as flicker, which somehow made the threat that much more frightening. Duncan looked down and smiled, chagrined. Ah, well, it was only to be expected. Duncan already knew that Methos felt about his sleep in much the same way he felt about his beer: any Immortal who got between Methos and either one was just asking to be made a foot shorter. "Fine, Methos. Stay where you are," Duncan said aloud. "But I'm not going to let you get cold."

He got the comforter off the bed, wrapped it securely around Methos's body, and then looked at the empty bed. There was no way he was going to spend another night tossing and turning alone. Duncan sat on the floor, dropped his head onto Methos's knee, pulled a fold of the comforter over himself and drifted to sleep.

It would be the last time that he fell asleep with Methos for over a week.

***

It really was one thing after another. Friday night Methos again had to work late, and elected to stay at his own flat rather than make the trek to the barge. Saturday there was a film festival of obscure science fiction flicks that Methos wanted to attend. They didn't get home until the very small hours of the morning, and this time it was Duncan, who had found it next to impossible to keep his eyes open through the last four reels of vintage pseudo-scientific cheesiness, who fell asleep in the chair while Methos rambled on about the evolution of science fiction as an art form and man's undying need to find his place in an ever-expanding universe. Sunday evening Methos produced a whole sheaf of papers he simply had to go through before work on Monday-- Duncan fell asleep to the sound of Methos muttering and writing, the single bulb of his desk lamp illuminating the barge. Monday night Methos had gotten hold of a new novel by his current favorite mystery author, and after several repetitions of "Just one more chapter, Duncan," Duncan had given up and faced the empty bed alone. Then on Tuesday, it was another late night at the U, and on Wednesday it was more paperwork...

Duncan got out of bed around 3 a.m. Thursday morning and padded over to his still-working lover, bare feet whispering across the barge's wooden floor. "What would you say if I showed up in the Head's office with my katana?" Duncan said, only half joking. "Methos, this has got to stop."

Methos sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Duncan," he said. "You've never lived with a professional translator before, have you? This is just the way it goes. Projects piddle along for an age, and then suddenly there's a big push and nobody gets any sleep. It'll be over in a few more weeks, tops."

"I'm not sure I can last that long," Duncan said, putting his hands on Methos's shoulders. Methos leaned his head to one side, touching his cheek to Duncan's fingers. The simple gesture touched Duncan deeply, made him realize just how much he had missed the physical intimacy between them. "It's been days since we've had sex."

"'Days'," Methos repeated teasingly. "Good lord, let's call the presses now. Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod has actually gone more than twenty-four hours without getting laid." Duncan took a step back, hurt. Methos grabbed his hands and drew him back, turning sideways in his chair. "Sorry," Methos said repentantly. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded. I know it's hard..."

"It certainly is."

Methos swatted him lightly. "That's not what I meant either, and you know it. Tell you what--I'll do my best to be home early tomorrow night. And then I'll prove to you exactly how much I've missed you."

The knowing eyes sweeping over Duncan’s chest made Duncan tingle. But he couldn't let that last statement go. "No," he said quietly, recapturing Methos's hands and pulling them to his lips. "I'll prove it to *you* instead."

An elegant eyebrow arched. "And just how were you planning to do that?"

"However you wish," Duncan said softly, brushing his mouth over Methos's palm. "I'll do anything you want--just as long as I get to see *you* come a few dozen times. You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen when you just let go, Methos." He let his tongue lick out, touching the tip to Methos’s salty skin. "In fact, we could always get started right now..."

Methos cast a pained look at the desk full of paperwork. "Duncan ..."

"All right, all right. I'm sorry." Duncan dropped the hand and backed away, his own raised in surrender. "It *is* late. I guess I can wait until tomorrow--er, later today--if I have to."

His lover smiled fondly. "They say patience is a virtue, MacLeod."

"It's not virtue I'm particularly interested in right now," Duncan replied with a sigh. "But I can wait." He brushed a kiss over Methos's cheek and yawned. "Goodnight, Methos."

"Sleep well, Duncan."

Duncan had the strangest feeling that Methos's eyes followed him back to the bed, and that they lingered on him long after he'd pulled the covers up and closed his eyes. But after a few moments Methos's pen started scratching over his papers once again, and Duncan dismissed it. He slid into sleep.

***

Duncan wasn't sure when Methos got to bed, or if he ever made it at all. When he woke up the next morning Methos was dressing in a rare suit and tie. "Department meeting," he said succinctly when Duncan squinted at him with bleary eyes.

"Oh, no," Duncan groaned. "Are you *sure* you don't want me to go with you and display my katana to your Head? Strictly as an interesting historical artifact, of course."

"Duncan, you grow more devious every day," Methos said appreciatively. "I think I'm a bad influence on you."

"Mmmm. I think you are." Duncan put on his best leer. "Come to bed and I'll prove it you. You can be late just this once."

"I wish I could," Methos said, slipping into his overcoat with every appearance of regret. "Things are getting to a very critical stage. I have to..."

Methos launched into a lengthy explanation of all the things he had to do as he searched for his wallet and other necessities, slipping them into his pockets. As usual, Duncan stopped listening after the second word, but as he watched his lover prepare to leave a sudden sinking doubt touched his heart. "Methos? Are you avoiding me on purpose?"

The pale face snapped toward him. Duncan thought he saw a hint of annoyance before it was replaced with a look of total surprise. "Now why would you think a thing like that?"

"I--" Duncan thought, and began to felt silly. *Because you haven't had sex with me in over a week* suddenly seemed a ridiculous and adolescent thing to say, even if that was what was on his mind. After all, everyone had busy times at work. Sometimes even Tessa had gotten so involved in her art that Duncan didn't see her for days. But..."You just seem so busy lately," he hedged. "I was just wondering..."

"Duncan, we already talked about this," Methos said. "If I'm going to establish myself at the university, I have to do everyone's scut work for a while. It's just the price of getting started. It won't last forever. I promise."

"I understand that," Duncan said. "I just miss you, that's all."

His lover's expression softened, making him seem more beautiful than ever. "I'm glad," Methos answered. "Believe me, Duncan. There's nothing wrong with *you*..." He stopped abruptly, and Duncan had the feeling there was more he wanted to say, but Methos's lips tightened into a thin line. "I really have to go," he said, and climbed the stairs. "See you tonight."

Duncan watched him go, feeling the oddest sense of doom.

***

Duncan almost wasn't surprised when the phone rang late that afternoon. "Thank god. I was hoping you'd be home," Methos said. "Duncan. I'm afraid I have bad news."

"Another all-nighter?" Duncan’s hand tightened on the receiver. "I don't believe it! Methos, you've got to tell them no. If not for me, for yourself. Too many sleepless nights can take their toll even on an Immortal. If someone Challenged you now..."

"I'd put a bullet through his heart and run away. Duncan, I *can* take care of myself," Methos answered sternly, than softened. "But it's not another all night work session I'm calling about. I only wish it was. I have to fly to Madrid. In an hour."

"What!?!"

Duncan listened in disbelief as Methos explained. Apparently, Methos's dear, sweet, battle ax of a department head had located a rare original manuscript of something-or-other at a library near Madrid, and was sending Methos to collect it ASAP. Methos would barely have time to run by his flat and pack a suitcase before his flight. Duncan couldn't help it. He exploded, letting out a string of very bad words. "And there was me thinking you'd take it badly," Methos said wryly when he'd wound down. "Duncan, I'm really sorry..."

"Sorry? You should be incensed!" Duncan exclaimed. "What does that Head of yours think she's doing? She can't just rearrange our lives on a second's notice."

"Well, actually, she can," Methos pointed out. "Unless you'd like me to be unemployed?" Duncan did not reply, fuming silently. "Duncan, I'm the only one who can verify the manuscript's authenticity," Methos said consolingly. "And that has to be done before the end of this week if we're going to complete this project in any reasonable amount of time."

"I don't think any of you people understand what the word 'reasonable' means," Duncan retorted. "Methos..." He started to bang his head lightly against a porthole, so frustrated he barely noticed the impact. "I had so many plans made for tonight. I *miss* you. I need you here. I need to make love to you. It's been too long."

"Are you alone?"

The words were spoken in Gaelic, not the English they had been using. Duncan replayed the sentence in his head, hearing again the libidinous undertones that had accompanied the switch. His heart skipped a beat. "Why?" he said slowly, mind racing ahead. "Methos, you're not thinking..."

"Oh, but I am." The other Immortal chuckled predatorily, sending a hot flush of blood to Duncan’s lower parts. "I *promised* I'd prove to you how much I missed you, didn't I? Since I can't do it in person, I thought I'd do it over the phone. Well, Highlander? Are you alone?"

"I--" Lust and worry warred in Duncan's mind. "Are you?" he countered.

"For the moment," Methos answered. "There *are* some perks to being the Head's pet errand boy, Duncan. She's letting me use her office while I call you. I think I can give you...oh, fifteen minutes, before she starts getting suspicious and has to make sure I'm not hacking into her computer."

"Fifteen minutes?? Oh, Methos." Duncan banged his head against the porthole once again. "This isn't what I want. I want *you*."

"I know, Duncan. But this is what you're going to get." An impish quality came into Methos's voice. "Of course, I could just hang up now..."

"No!" Duncan shouted the word, and then flushed as Methos laughed at him. "No. But...you have to do it with me. I want to hear you come, too."

“Duncan, I'm sitting in my *bosses office*," Methos said in exasperation. "A bit of naughty conversation will probably get overlooked, especially since I'm the only one in the department that speaks vintage Gaelic. But outright masturbation would certainly be commented upon. I'm going to have to hold something in front of my crotch when I leave as it is. Thank god trench coats are useful for hiding more than swords." Duncan moaned softly, the image of his lover trying to hide an urgent erection going straight to his own groin. "No, Highlander. I'm afraid this little phone sex session is going to have to be entirely about you. Unless you really do want me to hang up..."

"No!" Duncan shouted again, and the calmed himself with an effort. "No. I want you, whatever you can give. But..."

"No. No 'buts'," Methos murmured. "For the next fifteen minutes, I'm not going to be in this office--I'm going to be with you on the barge. All you have to do is close your eyes and imagine me. Can you do that for me?"

Duncan did. With Methos's quiet breathing in his ear, Duncan could easily picture the lean form standing next to him, even feel the heat of his skin. It was so easy, in fact, that it bothered him. "I can do that for you," Duncan said huskily. "It feels like that's all I've been doing for days. God, Methos. I want..."

"Shhh. I know, Duncan. I know," Methos soothed. "Keep your eyes closed. I'm there, just out of sight, with my feet up on your coffee table. You'd be threatening to toss me out on my bum for leaving smudges on it if you weren't so damned horny." Duncan chuckled softly. "Let's see. It's just gone four o'clock,” Methos continued. “That means you've just come back from your afternoon run. Am I right?"

Duncan smiled. He was unreasonably touched to know that Methos had learned his routine so well, knew when he left and when he returned. "Yes."

"Have you showered?"

"Yes. I had just finished getting dressed when you called."

"No, Duncan, you did *not* finish getting dressed," Methos corrected. "You were thinking about me the whole time you ran, and while you showered you thought about me even more. You were hard and you wanted me, but you didn't want to be too obvious. So instead of getting dressed all the way, you just put on a pair of jeans. You left the top button undone." Methos's voice dropped. "Undo your top button, Duncan. Just the top one--no more until I say."

Eyes still closed, Duncan fumbled for his top button. He really was wearing a pair of jeans, and getting the slim metal button to pop out of its buttonhole was the work of a moment. The cool air brushed the newly bared skin on Duncan’s abdomen, sending a surge of lust through his whole body. He inhaled shakily. "Very good," Methos said approvingly. "I take one look at you, and I know what you want--but you let your hand rub the bulge in your fly ever so casually, just to make sure my eyes go to the right place. Go ahead and do it, Duncan. Touch yourself through your jeans. Tease me...show yourself off. Make me want you."

Duncan dropped his hand and did as Methos asked, groaning softly as he brushed his burgeoning erection with the back of his hand through the denim. Methos heard. "You have no idea how sexy you look like that, Highlander," he murmured softly. "Those jeans might as well be painted on; they're hugging your ass as well as your cock. You're trying to drive me crazy, but it's rebounding--every time you touch yourself, you get that much harder, and I know it's driving you mad having your cock rubbing against the denim. You want me to get up off that couch and help you with it. But all I do is watch. Can you see me, Duncan? Can you feel me watching you?"

"Yes," Duncan breathed. "Yes, Methos, I can. Oh god..."

"Oh, yes, you want me badly, don't you, Highlander," Methos teased. "My mouth, my hands, my ass--it really wouldn't matter what I offered you, would it? You're so hard that anything would do. But you were the one who started this game, and you're going to have to play it through. Begging is out of the question. You have to make me come to *you*. But I won't. I watch while you finger yourself, getting more and more aroused, and still all I do is sit there. Finally, you can't help yourself--you have to start undoing the rest of your buttons..."

"Yes." Duncan could see it so clearly, the piercing, arrogant look on Methos's face while he watched Duncan rub himself through his jeans. Duncan cradled the receiver against his shoulder and dropped his newly freed hand to his fly, determined to keep pace with the story.

"Oh, no you don't, Highlander," Methos said brutally. "I can't let you do that yet. I get off the couch so quickly that I'm in front of you before you even realize I’ve moved, slapping your hand away. Your cock is mine now, and I can't let you simply get off the way you want. I cup you in my hand and squeeze, hard...then I drop to my knees in front of you. I know you want me to free you, maybe undo the rest of your fly with my teeth..."

"Oh." Duncan gave in, finally surrendering to the hypnotic, compelling quality of Methos's voice. His whole body felt alive with sensation. "Yes, Methos. Set me free..."

"Not yet, Highlander. Not yet." Methos sounded amused. "I want to play with you a little more--I want you to touch yourself through those jeans. Squeeze, slap, tug...do whatever you want, only don't you dare touch another button. Are you doing that for me?" A brief groan was Duncan’s answer. Methos dropped his voice. "Good, Duncan. Very good," he said. "If I was there, that would be me... that would be my mouth, sucking and nuzzling you through the fabric. I would be down on my knees before you could say 'Watcher Chronicle', worshipping that sweet hard cock. Can you feel me there? I want you to close your eyes and feel me."

"Oh, god." Duncan's hand moved roughly over the outside of his pants, trying for more friction, more sensation. He could feel the seams of his fly rubbing against him, and it was as maddening as Methos had said. The well-worn denim had never felt so rough. "Yes, Methos, I can feel you. Your mouth on me--so hot, so wet..."

"That's right, Highlander. I'm so hot for you that you can feel it through your jeans, so hungry my mouth is practically dripping saliva. I'm getting your nice clean jeans all damp. But somehow I don't think you mind." The old Immortal took a deep breath. "You're so sexy, so hot, that all I want is more--I put my hands on your ass to pull you closer..."

"Yes!' Duncan clenched his buttocks, imagining Methos’s his strong hands grabbing him there. "Yes, Methos. Touch me. I need your hands."

"You like that, Highlander? Like having me feel up your ass?" the voice hummed in his ear. "I like doing it--nothing feels as good in my hands as your pretty round bum. It's too much for me. I twist you around and push you down on the couch. I'm going to feast on you, MacLeod, devour you until there's nothing left. I'm undoing another couple buttons now--freeing your cock. And I'm pulling you right into my mouth."

"Methos!" 

Duncan wriggled helplessly, torn between his need to obey Methos's earlier command not to undress and his overwhelming need to free his aching cock. Fortunately, Methos knew exactly what he was feeling. "Go ahead and do it, Duncan," Methos murmured. "Leave your cock and undo your buttons, then get your hand nice and wet and start pumping. That's it," he encouraged, hearing Duncan's sudden gasp. "That's just what I want. It isn't your hand you're fucking; it's me, hot and sweet and so hungry for your cock I suck you in deeper with every stroke. I can feel you in my mouth, Duncan; you taste so good. Oh fuck..." The last words were said rather breathlessly, Methos's own arousal showing clearly for the first time, and that was enough to send Duncan over the edge. He came with a shout, seed spilling over the outside of his still half-buttoned jeans.

Duncan sagged to the floor, his knees weak, the aftermath of the orgasm thrumming in every muscle. He had never, ever become so aroused just from phone sex. A sudden yearning for Methos, so strong it hurt, made Duncan drop the hand holding the phone to the floor. The voice on the other end of the line sounded tinny and far away. "Duncan? Are you all right?"

Duncan swallowed and lifted the phone back to his ear. "Yes," he said. "Better than all right. Just...wanting you."

"Still? Damn!" Methos's voice was light. "There goes several decades of carefully honed phone sex technique down the drain. I thought we just took care of that."

The teasing made Duncan smile. "You took care of the hard-on, Methos, not the ache underneath,” he said. “I miss you."

"Yes." Methos sounded distant. "Duncan..."

"I know, I know. The Head wants her office back, and you have a plane to catch. It's all right." Duncan shook his head ruefully. "Call me when you're settled in Madrid ."

"It might be quite late. The library's staying open for me..."

"I don't care how late it is. Just call, all right?" Duncan smiled. "I want a chance to demonstrate my own carefully honed phone sex technique." There was a long pause. "Methos?"

"Sorry, Duncan. I thought I heard voices down the hall." Methos cleared his throat. "I really do have to run. I'll let you know when I'll be coming home."

*Home.* The word helped warm the emptiness in Duncan 's heart. "You do that."

"I will. Good-bye, Duncan." Methos hung up.

Duncan did the same, looking in bemusement at his limp and sticky self. He stood up and went to take another shower.

***

The next several days were lonely ones. Methos did call, but only on the fly. He was always rushed, about to go out with colleagues to eat, or needing to drive across the city to look up another rare resource. Duncan, who had long since stopped listening to the particulars of the project, spent a lot of time saying "Mmmm-hmmm" and "Oh yes?" into the phone as Methos explained. There was absolutely no opportunity for the more intimate conversation Duncan craved. Worst of all, the trip kept extending, from overnight to two days to three days to four. "Frustrated" did not even begin to describe Duncan's feelings when he heard that Methos would be spending the entire weekend in Madrid. But there was nothing he could do.

He spent Friday night moping around the barge, munching cold popcorn and swearing at the historical inaccuracies present on French TV. The next day, when Maurice showed up with a bottle of Methos's favorite cabernet and Duncan almost tossed him overboard, he decided he needed to get a grip on himself. Staying at home mooning over his absent lover was clearly making him cranky; he needed to go out. Duncan slipped on his coat and headed for Le Blues.

Just the thought of spending the evening with Joe lightened Duncan's mood. Joe had responded to the news of his and Methos's relationship with a hearty "Well, it's about time!”, poured them each a glass of champagne, and then left them alone; Duncan suspected that his Chronicle was receiving some very interesting additions, but Joe never made a point of it one way or another. As Duncan walked the last few blocks to the bar, he reflected that he really couldn't keep allowing Methos to absorb all his time. Duncan had been neglecting Joe ever since he and Methos had gotten together, and mortals never lasted long enough to allow time for regrets. Duncan was just going to have to find more time to spend with his Watcher friend. Resolution made, Duncan whistled as he closed the last few steps to the bar's door, smiling happily as he saw the familiar neon sign.

And then Methos's distinctive buzz suddenly overwhelmed him.

Duncan froze, his hand still on the door handle. Oh, god, he was worse off than he'd thought. Duncan had known for days that his longing for his lover was affecting his mood, but now it was clearly affecting his Immortal senses as well. Methos was in Madrid. It couldn't be Methos's buzz dancing in his head, no matter how much Duncan wanted it to be. Perhaps there was some other Old One in town who tasted similar, and Duncan’s loneliness was playing tricks on his mind. Duncan pushed open the door with one hand, the other resting on his sword inside his coat. It never hurt to be cautious…

But there was Methos, sitting on a bar stool, calmly drinking a beer while Joe polished glasses. His shoulders were hunched as if he was expecting a blow.

Duncan stopped dead, staring. With the exception of his shoulders, Methos was sitting at the bar as casually as he had done a thousand other times before. And "casual" was the perfect word. Nobody could do casual as well as Methos--in clothes (habitual black jeans and gray T-shirt), in posture (one hand resting on the bar, the other wrapped around a beer bottle, entire body slumped forward in the perfect pose of nonchalant cool) or in the face that, after just a few too many moments of hesitation, swung to regard Duncan blandly. "Well," Methos drawled calmly. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Anger hit Duncan with a force so strong he almost staggered. He took several measured steps forward, a haze of red rising before his eyes. Behind the bar, Joe smiled happily. "Hey, Mac!" he greeted. "We were just talking about you."

"I'll just bet you were," Duncan replied. Methos regarded him levelly, without a hint of shame--actually, without a hint of *anything*. The smooth features were completely blank. Duncan removed his coat angrily, fingers gripping the material the way he secretly longed to grip his lover's neck. "What were you saying about me?"

Methos shrugged elegantly, turned back to the bar. "Oh, nothing bad," Joe answered, looking at Methos fondly. "We were just discussing you guys’ relationship, that’s all. I was just saying that landing you had to be about the most miraculous thing Adam had witnessed in his life. He gave me some bull about being on the shores of the Red Sea when Moses did his famous parting-the-waves trick, but basically he agreed."

"Did he now." Duncan had to bite down five hundred angry words for every one that he let out. It was struggle to keep his face passive. He wrapped his coat into a bundle and threw it forcefully onto the bar stool next to Methos. "Tell me, *Adam*. Did you have a nice trip home?"

Methos did not answer. Joe looked confused. "Trip?" Joe said. "What trip?"

Methos took a deep pull on his beer. "Duncan's talking about Madrid, Joe."

"Madrid?" Joe raised his eyebrows. "I didn't know you'd been out of town recently, Adam. You'd think you would have mentioned it sometime in the last few days."

"Days?" Duncan repeated.

Joe chuckled. "Yeah, it's about time you finished up the barge's remodels and dragged this guy out of here, Mac. He's been driving me mad, depleting my beer stores and arguing philosophy with my customers. Yesterday the discussion on 'the nature of truth' nearly came to blows."

"Really." Oh, this just kept getting better and better. Not only had Methos lied to Duncan about his whereabouts, he'd been doing it for "days". Duncan turned accusing eyes on Methos. "Let me guess. Your position is that there is no such thing, so why bother to ever tell it?"

Methos mumbled something in reply. Duncan put a hand behind his ear. "What was that again?"

"I said, there is no truth, MacLeod," Methos repeated quietly. "Just perception. You're old enough to have learned that by now."

"Well, if I didn't, knowing you is certainly going to teach me." Duncan cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Joe. "Joe? Could you give us a moment alone, please?"

"Uh-oh." Joe said. "I don't like your tone, Mac. This 'moment' isn't going end with sword play in my bar, is it?" Neither Immortal answered him, and Joe suddenly looked very apprehensive. "Is something wrong, gentlemen?"

"Nothing that a little *truth* won't cure," Duncan growled, still staring at his lover. "It seems that somebody has been busy sitting here playing Socrates when he told me he was out of town on business."

"Oh, no." Joe groaned. "Adam? Is that true?"

Methos pasted on a brilliant smile. "'Fraid so, Joe. I'm guilty as charged." He pantomimed holding out his wrists to be handcuffed. Duncan was not amused. Methos sighed and looked him in the eyes. "Don't blame Joe, Duncan," Methos said wearily. "He didn't know I lied to you. I told him you were remodeling the barge again, and the sound of hammering was driving me mad."

"Mac's not remodeling?" Methos shook his head. Joe stared at him for a long moment, and then slowly shook his own head in turn. "Oh, Adam," Joe said, voice full of pity. "What the hell are you hiding from now?"

"Just about everything, Joe. Just about everything." Methos climbed to his feet. "Do you think we could borrow your back table for a while? I'm sure Duncan would like to give me my dressing down in semi-private."

"I don't know." Joe looked doubtfully around the bar. It was still early enough that Le Blues was relatively deserted, but more and more customers were coming in every minute. "Maybe you should take my office."

"Thanks, Joe, but I would rather receive my dressing down in semi-public. There's much less likelihood of swords being drawn." Methos raised a mocking arm to the bar's most secluded table, tucked in the corner near the stage. "Shall we?"

"Let's," Duncan hissed. He stood and clamped a hand on Methos's shoulder, propelling the shorter man to the lonely table as if he were a naughty child. Methos put up with it until they were out of Joe's immediate line of sight, and then twisted out from under the grasp, facing Duncan with curiously dead eyes. "All right, ‘Adam’," Duncan growled, his voice low and menacing. "What the hell is going on?"

Methos slid into one of the table's two wooden chairs. He gave his most annoying smile. "Well, let's recap," he said. "I told you I went to Madrid. Now you find out that I've been hanging out here at Joe’s the whole time instead. It looks like I lied to you, MacLeod. It happens in the best of relationships. Get over it."

"Get over it?!" Duncan exploded, attracting curious looks from some nearby patrons. He lowered his voice with an effort. "Did you ever even go to Madrid at all?"

"No."

"No?! Methos..."

Methos snarled at him, eyes quickly glancing around to see who had overheard the use of that name. Duncan paled, realizing just how dangerous a slip it could have been. He looked at the man in front of him, realizing just how deeply he loved him, how worried he was for his welfare, and his anger was suddenly replaced by a deep, aching pain. "Adam," he corrected himself softly. "Adam, *why?*"

Methos blinked. "Didn't you hear me, MacLeod? I lied to you. Don't you want to yell at me some more?"

"No." Duncan shook his head. "No, Met--Adam. I really don't." He felt strangely like crying, and brushed at his eyes fretfully with the back of his hand. "All I want to know is why."

Methos looked startled. "You do?"

"Yes. I do." Duncan really didn't have a clue how he was feeling any more. He just had to hold on, somehow, and hope that everything would eventually make sense. "Joe asked you what you were running from; you said just about everything. I have to assume that part of that everything is me." Methos nodded a single time. "But you didn't run far...not to Nepal or Bora Bora or any of the other places that you usually go when you disappear." Again, Methos nodded that simple, frightening single nod. "Instead you ran to Joe's...where you had to know I'd find you, sooner or later. So that means that at least part of you thinks whatever made you run is worth fixing. Doesn't it?"

Methos's lip curled snidely. "Trying to follow in Sean Burns’s footsteps, are we, Highlander?"

Duncan winced. "No," he said. "No one can ever do that. I'm just trying to make the best of this. Adam, I love you. I want to take you home with me tonight if I can. Can't you stop being sarcastic for once and just tell me what I need to do to make that happen?"

For a long moment Methos studied him. Then he sighed and leaned back in the chair. "I actually did have plane tickets for Katmandu, you know," he said tiredly. "My bag was packed, everything was all arranged. But instead of driving to the airport, I kept coming here, and I kept calling you to assure you that I was in Madrid and would be back soon. It's not like me; normally when I run, I just run. I can only think of one reason why I didn't."

Methos looked wearily down at the table, not meeting Duncan’s eyes. Duncan's heart lurched in his chest. "You love me, too."

"Yes," Methos admitted. "I really think that I do. And you're right. A very large part of me wanted you to find me." He lifted his hand warningly when Duncan tried to speak. "But that doesn't mean I can go back to the barge with you, Duncan. Not tonight. Maybe not ever."

"But why?"

"It's very simple, Duncan. I'm afraid to fall asleep at your side."

It was Duncan’s turn to gape at his lover, his jaw slack from shock. "What?" he said stupidly. Then he caught himself. "Oh, no. No, that can't be it. You know I'd never try for your head."

"I never said you would. That's not the reason why." Methos got to his feet. "And I really don't know how to explain any more than that. I think you should go home, Duncan. I'll come by in the next few days to get my things..." 

"No!" Duncan made a desperate lunge and managed to snag the edge of Methos's T-shirt before Methos could leave. Rationally, Duncan knew that Methos was probably only going to get another beer. But Duncan couldn't take that chance, couldn't let go and expect Methos not to disappear for good. Methos turned, his mouth open in surprise. "No,” Duncan said desperately. “You can't just leave without telling me the real reason. I know--" He swallowed awkwardly. "I know you've been avoiding...uh...being intimate with me..."

The patrons at the next table, who had been trying to ignore their outbursts, suddenly looked very interested. Duncan colored. "Great way to be discrete, MacLeod," Methos hissed, then looked pointedly at his T-shirt hem until the Highlander let it go. Methos leaned across the table, face close to Duncan’s. "Yes. All right. I have been avoiding ‘being intimate’--but not with you. If you think back on it, you'll realize that I've doing every damn thing I could think of to keep your irrepressible Highland horniness fully satisfied. I already TOLD you I loved you, you idiot. It's not you I'm trying to avoid."

"But..." Duncan could tell that Methos was trying to tell him something important, but he was missing it completely. He shook his head helplessly. "But who else is there?"

The look of utter disgust on Methos's face would have withered a lesser man. "That's it," he said, pulling back. "I knew it was ridiculous to try to explain. If you can't figure it out on your own, there's absolutely no point in me trying to tell you. Just think about it, MacLeod. If you come up with anything, give me a call." Methos pulled back and gathered up his coat.

"Adam. Adam!" Duncan got to his feet, far beyond caring what the rest of the bar thought. "Who else is there? Who?"

Methos didn't answer. He just turned his back and stormed out, letting the bar's door swing shut with an angry thump.

Duncan started to go after him, but Joe somehow managed to get between him and the door. "Let him go, Mac," he said. "I think you both have some cooling off to do."

"Joe! Let me through." 

Duncan tried unsuccessfully to see around the Watcher, to discover which direction Methos was heading in. Joe refused to budge. "I mean it," the Watcher said. "I'm not going to have either of you take the other's head on my watch. So you're going to sit down now, have a nice stiff drink on the house, and do some long hard thinking. All right?"

Thinking. That's what Methos had wanted him to do, as well. Maybe he should take their advice. "All right." Duncan allowed Joe to lead him back to the bar and pour him his drink, which he sipped distractedly, never quite taking his eyes of the door. It was going to be a long night.

***

Methos lay quietly in the dark, listening to the comforting tic, tic of his aged grandfather clock, and finally the gentle chime that meant yet another fifteen minutes of eternity had passed. The ceiling, hidden somewhere in the gloom overhead, evaded all of Methos’s attempts to see it through the dark. It didn't stop him from trying to count the ceiling tiles anyway. Neither did the fact that he already knew exactly how many tiles were there. It was one of those things that happened, when you were old enough to know that sitting and brooding served no useful purpose, but also old enough to know when sleep was impossible and physical action would do no good; you ended up spending a lot of time staring at ceilings. Methos supposed that, in its way, ceiling-staring was a meditation technique just as valid as a Buddhist contemplating a mandala or a Catholic nun telling her beads. Enlightenment, enshmightenment. They were all just different ways of passing the time without going crazy...

The phone rang. Methos grabbed it expertly out of the dark, hand knowing exactly where it lay--he'd placed it next to his pillow before he'd laid down for just that purpose. "Pierson here."

"It was you, wasn't it."

"Highlander? Is that you?" Inwardly, Methos called himself a fake and a cheat. Of course the caller was Duncan. But the forms had to be observed. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Yes. I do." Duncan sounded completely unrepentant. "You were the one who told me to call you once I’d thought it through."

"And have you?"

"I did,” Duncan answered. “Although I freely admit that it drove me crazy, at first. I kept thinking that there was someone else, some other lover. But then I got it. As far as I know, there's only ever been two of us in our bed--so if you're not avoiding *me*, than you must be avoiding *you*." There was a short silence, during which Methos tried to get a hold on his suddenly ragged breathing. "Methos, I think we need to talk."

For once in his life, Methos wholeheartedly agreed. Even if it was likely to be the last conversation they ever had. "Where are you? At the barge?" Methos asked, quietly resigning himself to the inevitable. "I'll come."

"Yes, I'm at the barge. But you don't have to come here. I can go to you or...we can just talk on the phone. Whatever makes you more comfortable."

"No, MacLeod. You answered the million dollar question, you deserve your reward. It may turn out to be a booby prize, but...some things just have to be discussed in person. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Another short silence, during which Methos felt his lips curl into a sardonic smile. "*Then* we'll talk."

"Yes." Methos couldn't tell whether Duncan was apprehensive or relieved. Probably the man didn't even know himself. "All right, Methos. Fifteen minutes."

Methos showed up on the dot for once, not having done any of his usual fussing before he left or rambling on the way over. The barge was dark except for the soft light of a dozen or so candles. MacLeod felt his buzz and met him at the door; when he saw Methos's eyes flicker curiously to the candles, he colored. "I didn't--they weren't meant to be erotic," Duncan said. "I lit them while I was meditating. The flicker helps me think. But I can turn on the lights again if they make you uncomfortable."

"No. Don't do that. This is hardly the night for modern electric brilliance, is it." Methos stepped over the threshold and closed the door behind him, then hesitated uncomfortably on the stairs. "So," he said. "You figured it out."

"Not entirely," Duncan admitted. "I still don't know why you would want to avoid yourself, Methos. But at least I now know that you do." An awkward moment passed, Methos staring down at his feet, before Duncan looked exasperated. "For god's sake, you don't have to hover there in the entryway like a stranger. Come in. Sit down. Have some wine."

There was an open bottle of what looked to be a very fine cabernet standing on the galley counter. Duncan strode over to it and poured Methos a full glass. Methos raised his eyebrows as the candlelight shone on the label and he recognized the vintage. "My favorite," he said. "Another one of your seduction-cum-meditation techniques, Highlander?"

"No." Duncan smiled thinly. "Self-medication. Maurice brought this by for you earlier. I decided to break into it myself a couple hours back. I needed it when I realized the second part--the reason why you're afraid to sleep with me."

Methos's eyebrows, already raised, shot up to his hairline. He crossed the room, ridiculously clumsy, uncertain of where to put his feet. "You *have* been thinking."

"Yeah. I almost wish I hadn't." Duncan said ruefully, replacing the cork. "It really was obvious, once I got the first part. You'd been avoiding...you know...since we first got together..."

Methos rolled his eyes. Leave it to Duncan to fall back on Highland prudery at such a moment. "They're called orgasms, Duncan."

"Yes." Duncan nodded. "You'd been avoiding orgasm since the first time we made love, but you didn't avoid *sleeping* with me until...until the night I woke you up. And forced you." Duncan 's thin little smile disappeared, replaced by an expression so much the opposite of a smile that Methos's chest ached in reciprocal pain. "I'm so sorry, Methos. I thought it was such a good idea. I thought all I needed to do was prove to you how much I wanted you. I never meant to force you into anything. It never even occurred to me that I *could*."

Methos let out a breath. It tasted stale, like it had been hiding in his chest for several centuries. “Duncan, during my lifetime a lot of people have forced me to do a lot of different things," he said gruffly, going to the counter and picking up his wine glass. "You aren't one of them."

"But..."

"No. No buts." Methos smiled humorlessly. "It's true, you were very...persuasive, that night. But if I'd really wanted to stop you I could have. It's as much my fault as it was yours." He looked down at his toes. "I thought I was ready. I wasn't."

"Can you tell me why?"

"I don't think I have a choice." Methos crossed the small living space and sat down on a corner of the couch, cradling the wine glass in his fingers. "As I said, you earned the prize--you actually cared enough to come up with half the answer on your own. Now I owe you the rest of it. But it isn't going to be easy."

"For you to tell me or for me to hear?"

"Both." Methos swirled the wine in his glass around meditatively, staring into the depths. "How many of your lovers have been rape survivors, MacLeod?"

Duncan swallowed. It was not a totally unexpected question. But still... He tightened his grip on his self control, and tried to keep his voice steady. "Several."

"All women?"

"No." Duncan shook his head, thinking of poor, dead Jacob. "No. I've had a few male lovers who were raped, as well. But they--they handled things differently. Usually they just wanted to avoid sex altogether, and when they didn't they were very passive, letting me take control." Methos nodded. "Methos? Are you trying to tell me that you..."

"Yes," Methos said bluntly. "Yes, Duncan, you should include me in that company." Duncan started to speak. Methos held up his hand. "No. Don't ask me anything more. I really don't want to tell you the details. Even Sean Burns had to leave the room to regroup when I told him about some of the things I survived as a slave. Suffice it to say that sometimes the worst thing that can be done to person--a person who has had so much pain that they never expect there to be anything else--is to force pleasure into the mix. It destroys, Duncan, much more thoroughly than just pain alone. You end up distrusting your own body, your own needs and wants..."

It was getting harder and harder for Duncan to stay calm. "Is that what happened to you?" he asked, hoping Methos wouldn't notice the way his fingers were clenching around the wine stem. "Somebody turned your own body against you?"

"It's a common enough trick among the higher class of rapist, Highlander. In the right hands, an orgasm can be a much more devastating weapon than a sword." Methos twisted his own glass uncomfortably. "I had one master who liked to have another slave jerk me off until I *had* to come, whether I wanted to or not--and when I did, he took great pleasure in pulling out my toenails at exactly the same moment. Another, who discovered I was Immortal rather early in our acquaintance, liked to stab me through the heart at roughly the same moment. And Kronos--well, let's just say that he had *lots* of tricks up his sleeve to make orgasms extra memorable. Sometimes I'd even live through them. Usually, dying was more pleasant." Methos shivered. "And all of them, every single one, liked to wake me up out of a sound sleep to start the fun and games. When you woke me up the other night, it took me a while to realize it was you."

Duncan’s blood ran cold. "I remember that you called me something, when you first woke up. I didn't know what it meant. Main something."

Methos stiffened. "Mainshtyr."

"Yes. That was it. Can you tell me...do I even want to know what it means?"

With a great effort, Methos relaxed his spine, falling back into his trademark slump. "I guess," he said defeatedly. "It's not that difficult a translation. The word comes from a language that was a precursor to modern English; I was in the Isles at the time. It means more or less what it sounds like. 'Master'."

"You thought I was your old Master?" Methos nodded. Horror crawled up Duncan’s spine. "Oh, Methos. Why didn't you tell me? I would have understood."

"Would you?" Methos peered at him over the glass. "Think about it, Duncan. You're a very sensual man, a very considerate lover who takes great pride in his partner's pleasures. I knew you weren't going to be satisfied with a one-sided affair for much longer. Frankly, I'm amazed I managed to distract you for as long as I did. If I'd actually come right out and told you that it had been more than a century since I'd last had an orgasm with a male partner, and explained the reasons why, would you honestly have been willing to let it lie? Or would you have pressured me at every turn, wanting more details, wanting to know how to fix it? Think very carefully before you answer."

"But we can fix it, Methos!" Duncan's veneer of calm finally vanished. The wine slopped out his glass onto the wooden floor as he leaned urgently toward his lover. Duncan didn't care. "We can fix it, one step at a time. You can enjoy sex again, all of it. It takes a lot of time and patience, but I know it can be done. Some of my other lovers have made it through the darkness in the past..."

"Ah." Methos’s eyes were strangely brittle, giving the impression that they were made from two smoky pieces of glass that might crack and fall to pieces at any moment. "But how many of them had been *rapists*, as well?"

Duncan’s throat went dry. "You see, I have a double burden," Methos stated quietly. "You already know about Cassandra. You don't know about the thousands of others I used--oh, much worse than I used her. The fact that Cassandra still had enough of soul left to be able to want my head proves that she got off lightly. Do you understand now why I couldn't stand to tell you the truth? It isn't just my memories of being the victim that are holding me back. Every time I get close to the edge, I remember the pleasure of being the perpetrator as well." He looked down into his lap. "The memories become so clear I can taste them, and that is no longer a place I am willing to go. Especially not with you. Duncan, I don't think I will ever be able to 'let go' in front of you again. I'm sorry."

Duncan couldn't speak. He tried several times, and somehow just couldn't manage to get his lips and tongue to work in unison. Methos watched him for a moment, and then slowly got to his feet. "I'll go now," Methos said leadenly. "I think it would be better if we don't see each other for a while. I'll stay away from Joe's; I wouldn't want you to give that up because of me. In a few days I'll come by when I know you're out to get my things. I'll leave my key by the door when I'm done--you won't have to worry..."

The last few sentences were a meaningless babble to MacLeod, who was trying to hear him through a haze of pain and rage that made mere language incomprehensible. But as Methos edged closer and closer to the door, enough of the gist of what he was saying managed to penetrate into Duncan’s mind so that he could realize Methos was leaving. He fought, hard, with his confusion, and managed to come up with a single word. "No."

"No?"

"No. Don't go."

"Don't go?"

The battle was raging deeply in Duncan, but it was one he had fought before--and while it had had its casualties then, just as it would today, he knew how it would ultimately end. Part of him screamed that he should get his sword and chase this monster from his home, this fiend who had just added joy in sexual assault to his long, long list of sins. But he couldn't. He just couldn't. "No. Don't go," Duncan said, then rephrased it with an effort. "I mean--of course you can go, if you want to. I will not hold you here. But I would really, really like you to stay."

"Stay." The glass was back in Methos's eyes, sending off hard little glints of icy light that chilled MacLeod to the soul. "Didn't you *hear* me, Highlander? I've just told you that I am a serial rapist as well as a serial killer. And that I enjoyed it."

"I know. I can't really fault you for that, Methos. I enjoyed it, too."

The words hung heavily in the air. For the first time, Methos looked completely blank. "Who --when--"

"You mean you don't remember?" Methos's blank look continued. Duncan exploded. "For god's sake, Methos, you were there! Or almost. And it wasn't that long ago, even by mortal standards. Don't you remember driving up to that apartment house and pulling me into your car? Do you think that guy put a bullet in me because I was just *kissing* his wife?"

"That wasn't you!"

"No?"

"No! It was the Dark Quickening. It was not *you*, Duncan MacLeod. It was not."

"Maybe," Duncan conceded. "But I still *remember* it as if it was. The holy spring didn't purge the memories, Methos. I remember the power, I remember the thrill, I remember her pain and fear. And--" He heard his voice go very soft. "And when I'm not in the bathroom throwing up because of it, the memory still makes me hard."

Duncan wasn't sure just when he started to cry. It wasn't explosive, or sudden-- the phrase "burst into tears" would have been completely inaccurate. It was just that suddenly his eyes were wet, and then his cheeks and chin, and then even his nose was running in a way it hadn't since he was a child. Duncan didn't dare to look up to see how Methos was reacting. But he heard him. "Oh, *fuck*," the old Immortal said, and a second later he was standing at Duncan’s side, pulling him into his arms. Duncan let him--for the moment, just the moment, all his strength was gone, and it was a relief to let someone else do the supporting for once. Methos let him cry for a while, then gently brushed his hair up out of his face. "God," he said. "We really are two pieces of work, aren't we."

"You got that right," Duncan answered, pulling back to wipe his nose. He smiled weakly. "I was wondering, a few minutes ago, just how it happened that I fell in love with a mass murdering rapist. But I guess you have to ask yourself the same question, don't you?"

“Duncan." Methos's voice was pained. "No. No, I don't."

"No," Duncan agreed. "No, you don't. And neither do I. I didn't fall in love with a murderer--I fell in love with *you*, and you are not like that any more. Neither am I. I could be--god knows I could be, and the only thing that's stopping me is myself. But I won't. And having you in my life is a large part of the reason why. I love you, Methos."

“Duncan." Just a single word, a soft sigh, a disbelieving shake of an elegant head. Methos, for once, seemed completely beyond speech. But he leaned forward, closing the space between them, and kissed Duncan on the lips. The tears and the runny nose didn't seem to bother him at all.

It was a sweet kiss. Gentle, with nothing overtly erotic about it--just gratitude, and the sweet comfort of being understood. After a long minute, Duncan pulled away. "So," he said, taking Methos's hands. "What are we going to do about us?"

"I don't know. I'd like to stay, really I would. But..."

"But you're still frightened." Duncan nodded in understanding. "Do you trust me, Methos?"

The ancient eyes flickered closed. "Almost as much as I trust myself."

"Which isn't very much at all," Duncan said knowingly. "Methos, would you stay the night? Not for sex--I don't think either of us is ready for that just yet. But I would very much like to have you sleep at my side." He ran a gentle hand over Methos's shoulder. "I won't touch you, won't wake you up, won't hurt you in any way. I never would have, if I had known the truth. You do believe that, don't you?"

The pale lids stayed shut. "Yes," Methos said in a murmur so soft Duncan almost missed it. "That I do believe." And this time, as the ancient body pitched forward, it was Duncan’s turn to hold Methos while he cried.

***

Methos was very quiet over the next few days. Duncan didn't push. He had Methos back in his life, once again sleeping in his bed. Everything else he could wait for. And, as the days became weeks and spring became summer, Duncan started to realize just how much waiting he might have to do. Now that Methos wasn't hiding or evading or avoiding, the ancient's real fear whenever they went to bed became readily apparent. Several times Duncan had cause to curse Methos's former owners when Methos jumped at the simple touch of a hand or the brush of a knee; several times Duncan had to restrain his impulses to violence when Methos woke up out of a nightmare, sobbing and sweating and crying in a language dead to all but him. But eventually Methos was able to sleep all night spooned up at Duncan’s side without bad dreams, and even enjoyed receiving a kiss or two. It was time to become more intimate.

They started slowly--a kiss here, a light touch there, no expectations, no need to go further than they were both ready to go. Duncan couldn't help but sometimes miss the wild, aggressive lover of their earlier days, but he was amazed by how much more satisfying their lovemaking had become--how easy it was to fall asleep after an hour of rubbing Methos's back, with no orgasms expected or sought. It was more honest, somehow, and more equal, knowing that this time both of them were truly giving everything they could. Duncan reveled in it, enjoyed building the trust between them brick by slow, strong brick. It was turning into a deeper trust than he'd ever experienced in his life.

He would have been content to go on like that all summer, if not the entire year. But one day Methos had a request for him. "I don't know," Duncan said, fingering the white silk bonds Methos had procured from somewhere-or-other, while his lover lay watching him from the bed. "I don't like the thought of having to tie you down, Methos. I want you to trust me all by yourself."

"I know, Duncan." Methos sounded ever so slightly exasperated. "I want that, too. But for some reason I just can't. I keep pulling away from you, no matter how gentle and sensitive you're being. We both know it's true." Duncan smirked. The last time he had tried touching Methos's penis, the other Immortal had suddenly discovered a pressing need to reorganize the linen cupboard. Methos caught something of his thoughts and shrugged. "I'm just too damn good at running, both mentally and physically," he said. "I've had too much practice. So I need something to keep me here."

"I know, but this?" Duncan twirled the bonds around in the air.

"I need something to keep me here," Methos repeated. "And I would rather *not* have that thing be your body--the last thing I want is for you to hold me down. If you have any better ideas, I'd like to hear them. But this is the best I can come up with."

Duncan thought about it. "All right," he said. "But remember--even though you're tied down, you still have total control. One word--just one--and I'll let you go. All right?"

"Yes." Methos's relief was palpable. He stretched back and allowed Duncan to lovingly wrap his ankles and wrists, one tie for each arm and leg. "I think that's what I really need. To find out for sure that I have control--even when I don't." He looked at Duncan out of dark eyes. "I may have to test you, once or twice."

"Bring it on, Methos. I'm pretty sure I'll pass." Duncan planted a kiss on his forehead and then gently started tying the bonds to the bed, seeing to it that Methos had adequate play to move. "Are you ready?"

"Yes." A faint tremble belied the truth of this, but the word was steady and strong. "Make love to me, Duncan."

Duncan hadn't known how much those words, simple and trite as they were, would mean to him. Both his heart and his body throbbed at the sound. He stood back, taking a good look at his lover, and stared so long that Methos shifted uncomfortably. "Well, don't just stand there looking at me like I'm a cruise ship smorgasbord and you've spent the last hundred years living on bread and water," Methos said testily. "Go ahead and *do* something."

Duncan laughed softly. "But you are a smorgasbord, Methos. A feast laid out before me, ready for the taking--and one that I've been starving for my entire life. I just didn't know it until now." He knelt at the foot of the bed and dropped a bronzed hand to Methos's left foot, gently caressing the ancient toes. "Shhh," he said soothingly, when the old Immortal jumped. "I'm just going to rub your feet and calves, like I've done a thousand times. Nothing more until you're ready for it."

"All right."

Duncan did as he promised, slowly massaging the enticing curve of Methos's instep, gently working out the tension in the ankles and lower legs. He kept the touch light until he felt some of Methos's tight muscles relax, and then he took some of Methos's toes in his mouth--slowly, deliberately, keeping his eyes open and making sure that Methos was looking directly into them. There was no point in hiding his desire from his beloved, not any more. Duncan knew the picture he was making--hair loose, sunlight cascading over his face and torso as he knelt at the beloved feet--and he knew that Methos could not be immune to either sight or act. Duncan was extremely gratified when Methos made a wordless sound of lust. "Yes, Methos, that's it," Duncan said huskily, suckling and biting in between words. "We've been down this road before--you remember all the bends and landmarks along the way. It's not new territory, Methos. Feeling this is your birth right. I know you remember the feelings, the need, the heat. Let yourself start to feel them again."

Again that wordless sound, somewhere between a moan and sigh, this time tinged with a hint of vulnerability. Duncan ran a row of kisses up Methos' calf to the underside of his bent knee. "You are so unbelievably sexy," he murmured, letting his breath brush over the sensitive skin there. "God, Methos, your entire body is so rich, so delicious. There isn't any part of you that I don't want to touch, and taste, and devour--there isn't anything I don't want to do to you. But not until you're ready for me, Methos. Not until you're ready." Duncan kissed a graceful kneecap. "Can I move up higher, now? Or would you like me to rub your feet some more?"

The sound of strangled laughter floated down to him. "Definitely up," Methos said, but when Duncan started to eagerly lavish Methos's thighs with the same attention he’d given his calves, Methos shifted away. "But not there, not yet." He took a breath. "My hands could use some work."

Duncan’s forehead wrinkled. "Hands?"

Methos's voice was definite. "Hands."

"All right. Hands it is."

Duncan moved up, stretching himself along Methos's side--fortunately the bed was plenty large enough for Duncan to fit himself in under Methos's outstretched arm. Duncan reached for the hand above him, rubbing his thumb up and down the delicate tendons and kissing the place where the silk wrapped the slender wrist. "They're a surprisingly sensual part of the body, the hands," Methos said conversationally, if a bit breathlessly. "Not just for touching, but for receiving touch as well. All those nerve endings...fuck, Highlander!" Duncan had just wrapped his mouth around Methos's thumb. "What is this incredible oral fixation you have with my digits?"

"The same fixation I have with every other inch of your body, Methos. I told you. I want to taste you everywhere." Duncan got up off the bed and repeated the treatment on the other side, sucking each of Methos's long fingers with luxuriant decadence. When Duncan was finished he took a minute to study Methos's face. The old Immortal was flushed, but appeared to be enjoying himself--his beautiful eyes were ever so slightly dilated, and his head was thrown back into the pillows with every appearance of sensual abandon. "I'd like to kiss your mouth," Duncan said, surveying the pink lips carefully. "May I?"

"Go for it."

Duncan stretched out carefully over his lover, for the first time allowing their skins full contact. He tried to keep his kiss gentle, but it was difficult--the sudden feel of Methos's body underneath him brought home just how vulnerable his lover truly was, how helpless to resist. Duncan opened his mouth wide and drank the other man in, taking everything he could.

Oh, yes. This is what he had been waiting for, what he'd been missing all this time. The chance to simply be with his lover without being afraid of scaring him away, without any worries or feelings at all except for the passion building up between them. Methos seemed to be appreciating it, too. The old Immortals' body arched helplessly against the bonds, unashamedly seeking more heat, more contact. Then Methos mumbled something against his mouth. Duncan pulled back with an effort. "What was that?"

"I said, Stop."

Fear arching through him, Duncan pulled back. He started to reach for the silk ties, but Methos shook his head. "No, Highlander," he said. "I don't want to be free. I just had to know if you would stop when I asked."

"Oh. A test." Understanding banished Duncan’s fear. "Did I pass?"

"Admirably." For the first time since the encounter had begun, Methos let his eyes wander down Duncan's nude body. His voice was smoky with need. "If I was free, I would be doing my damnedest to nail you through the mattress right about now."

"Ah, but you're not free, are you." The playful tone in Duncan's voice had the desired effect. Methos wriggled against the sheets and bit down on his luscious lower lip. It was an unbelievably erotic sight. "You're all mine."

Taking Methos's low moan for permission to continue, Duncan let his hands begin to roam, thoroughly enjoying teasing every inch of Methos's wriggling form. The firm muscled chest. The satiny stomach, surprisingly ticklish. The wonderfully erect and weeping cock. At Duncan’s first touch on his penis, however, Methos suddenly stilled, his eyes fluttering closed. "Ah, ah, ah," Duncan said, sensing the sudden tension. "None of that. This is going to happen, Methos. I've got you, and it's going to be wonderful. There’s no need to be afraid." He started caressing Methos's chest, tracing teasing circles around one newly hardened nipple. "I've already proven that I'm worthy of your trust--now it's time to let go. Let yourself enjoy what I know you want."

"You just don't get it, do you," Methos said angrily, teeth gritted and his eyelids tightly shut. "It doesn't *matter* what I want. Something else is in control. I just can't cross that edge."

"Open you eyes, Methos." Startled, the old Immortal's lids flew open. "Look at yourself, look at me. You already *have* crossed that edge." Duncan rubbed the hard, hard cock for emphasis. "You're hard, you're throbbing, you're dripping with pre-come--the orgasm is only heartbeats away. The only question is whether or not your mind lets itself come along for the ride." Methos's cheeks colored, and he seemed to shrink back against the mattress, trying to pull away. "No, Methos. Don't pull back--this is right, this is good, this is pleasure. For god's sake, *don't close your eyes!* You need to keep looking at me, keep knowing that this isn't the past."

“Duncan." With a great effort, Methos focused on his lover. His hips jerked helplessly upward.

"I'm here, I'm here. It's me." *Yes, that's right,* Duncan thought as the slender body continued to buck against his hand. *Keep it up, just like that. I don't want you to be still; this is something we're both creating, not something that's being done to you. Oh, Methos!*

“Duncan?”

"I'm here, Methos."

“Duncan !" Duncan saw the beautiful mouth open with surprise. Then, with a jerk so violent he almost pulled free of the bed, Methos climaxed--and climaxed hard, spurting his creamy semen over both men.

Duncan watched his lover's body as it seemed to collapse in on itself, all the hard angles and edges melting into one satiated puddle. He undid the bonds quickly, but it was almost a redundant gesture--Methos looked freer than he ever had. Duncan looked at his peaceful face, and thought about all the other lovers who'd he'd been privileged to see in this state--so many moments of ecstasy he'd shared--and he wondered how on earth he had once seen such things as normal, just par for the course with lovemaking, instead of as the genuine miracles they were. *I am never, ever going to take this for granted again,* Duncan thought, gently curling his body around the Methos’s prostrate form. "Methos?"

"I'm all right, Duncan," came the quiet response. "I'd just forgotten, that's all."

"Forgotten how good it could be?"

"Uh--no." Methos looked a trifle embarrassed. "No, I'm afraid *that* was inextricably seared on my memory. It has been since that night you woke me up. What I conveniently managed to forget was how *exhausting* this all could be." His plaintive tone made Duncan chuckle. “Duncan?”

"Yes, Methos?"

"Just because we were able to manage this once doesn't mean it's going to be any easier the next time, you know. Patterns like this are just too hard to break."

"I know." Duncan rolled over onto his back with a sigh. "I know, and I understand. It's all right, Methos. We'll take each hurdle as it comes." He smiled. "In the meantime, didn't you mention something about wanting to fuck me through the mattress?"

Methos stared at him for a moment, then threw back his head with a rare, unrestrained shout of laughter. His sparkling eyes looked pointedly at Duncan’s erect cock, then his own limp one. "It might take a little while for my equipment to be in the working order necessary to accomplish that, Duncan," he said. "But I'd be glad to give it a try."

"I can wait."

***

Maurice came by the barge just as the sun was setting, turning everything along the water the loveliest color of Parisian gold. He had a bottle of Duncan 's favorite champagne cradled under one arm. Maurice still didn't know just what it was about his gift of wine for that nice Monsieur Pierson that had made Duncan react so negatively, but he thought that a peace offering was in order. He had made his way up the gangplank and was about to knock, when some very obvious sounds touched his ears:

"You're mine?"

"Yes, Methos."

"All mine? No matter what?"

"All yours. Forever."

"I love you, Highlander."

"I love you, Methos."

The words didn't mean much to Maurice--his knowledge of English was sketchy, mostly encompassing words for British cuisine--if what the British had could even be called cuisine. But the gasps, moans, and assorted other sounds of love in action needed no translation. Maurice smiled and tiptoed away into the sunset, the champagne still tucked under his arm. 

It was obvious that the barge's inhabitants needed no help.

The End


End file.
